BEING BAD BRIGANDS, PART VI
[version 1.0]
We join our four intrepid heroes at a confusingly inappropriate middle-point of one of several sub-arcs which collectively comprise the more complete arc of their shared history as adventuring companions. The scene takes place among some ancient trees, which closely line either side of the King's Road here1, which is somewhere between the town of Lower Crafterston and a nameless bridge, nonetheless nicknamed by the locals of that region Rickety Splinters .
It is afternoon, and there is some dappled sunlight from one sun or another finding its way through the thick and deep leafage overhead, casting wavering, bright-to-fading pools of light upon the road and the grasses and shrubbery about, and on the mossy pelts of the old Lilithwoods and upon the grey, stern barks of the older Ironoaks, and also across the forms and faces of our hale heroes, who are:
Quidbury Fallweather Cotterpin, a lanky young man in a trim-fitting vest, quite-functional pantaloons, and decent shoes. A great brown-red crop of hair atop his head vies for our attention with his substantial (though not unbecoming) nose. He is easily identifiable by many as an entirely workable male lead, given his conflicted characteristics: awkward, bright, optimistic, naive, not much of a fighter, though something about him makes one wonder when his True Strength will emerge and change our opinions of him - and therefore also ourselves. The Reader, I am sure, understands. Quidbury is standing close to:
Wimsel (no known last name, being a somewhat mysterious character by this point still), a waifish-looking woman, whom Quidbury has already fallen in love with several chapters ago, and who is not yet quite aware of what to make of that. She is in a serviceable adventuring frock, mostly greens and blues, with little specks of yellow, for flair. Her hair is dark, though salted with the early signs of her emerging, inherent wisdom. She is listening with grave interest to the Plan, which is being delivered by:
Brom the Mercenary (not strictly a last name, and he is in fact a Bounty Hunter), who is, as his name and monikers might suggest, a large and chiseled-jawed fellow, and the group's substantially capable veteran of battles and other perilous undertakings. He is (as he almost-always is) wearing thick-though-weather-worn leather armour, which is pleated for moving easily about and among the Hedgewilds, which is where he grew up and learned how to rely on nobody but himself. He is kneeling among the companions at the moment, drawing the Plan in the dirt. Brom is wondering where that smell just came from, and looks up to glare disapprovingly at:
Thorr the Impeccable Burro, busy eating wild grasses, which is his preference whenever afforded an opportunity to stop and have a rest. Thorr is of average disposition for a burro, keeping his opinions to himself, not being one of those animals one hears of from time to time, which can speak the Common tongue. He is currently piled high with all of the group's heavier things, and, for intimidating effect, dressed in black burlap, which is haphazardly studded with links from an old chain. He wishes he spoke Common long enough to make a joke about looking like a bad-ass. He would settle for somebody else in the group making the joke for him, but since nobody has thought of it, he decides to drop the joke and go back to grazing.
"Move it over there, you gassy beast, I can hardly think" says Brom to Thorr, who pretends not to hear him, and continues chewing.
"Will I get to wear a mask?" Asks Quidbury, for at least the third time that day.
"Yes," answers Brom, trying to pretend he hasn't answered the question four times already, "A mask is an excellent idea, when one plans to do crimes against the Crown. It is more difficult for any surviving witnesses to assist the wanted-poster artist in capturing them correctly, afterward."
Brom is trying to set the stones on the ground to indicate where the party should all stand during the robbery. The acorn in the midst of them is the mark - the line drawn in the dirt with his hunting knife, the road. All the stones, save the large one representing Brom, are quite removed from the action - back near his boot, in fact. Brom's stone is nearly on top of the acorn. The diorama effectively conveys what peril the acorn has gotten itself into, by choosing to wander the way it did.
Quidbury practically claps, "Oh, very exciting! We shall be those new kind of highwaymen which avoid hurting people more than strictly necessary!"
"Well, yes, ok" Brom is trying to find an even larger stone to represent himself, and an acorn which looks more injured, once tipped on its side.
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Wimsel helpfully adds, "and save half our earnings to give to the poor."
"What, half?" Brom looks up again to protest, but it is clear by the knowing nods Wimsel and Quidbury are giving each other that he has been outvoted again. He is already reconsidering the viability of this, his latest plan.
Wimsel wishes to look properly dangerous, of course, but is (natrually) opposed to using weapons of any kind. In fact, she claims to have a rare condition which prevents her from even carrying weapons properly, which is something Brom has never heard of. The group has agreed that her role is to hold a rope and scowl, when given the cue. Although she has been practicing this quite a bit, she has so far only managed to do either one or else the other of these things at a given time, but not yet both together.
Quidbury had been a bit too eager to carry a weapon, and so Brom has given him a stick and told him it is a small enchanted staff, which Brom found in the Dungeon of Golrath, which is neither a dungeon nor a real place of any kind. Quidbury asked if he might at least sharpen it, but Brom and he eventually agreed that this would disrupt its magical properties. When Quidbury asked what those properties were, Brom merely put his thick finger to his lips, and winked. Quidbury did not understand, but acted as though he had.
Thorr is content with fulfilling whichever role the group deems him suited for, provided it involves standing around or carrying things, and correctly assumes his role will involve one or both of these things, while the People commit the crime or whatever. He has his doubts they will succeed at whatever thing they are about to try, though is aware he might soon need to carry additional things or people, regardless of whether they succeed or not, and so has prepared himself mentally for this.
Brom stands up, pointing to the Plan, all quite plainly laid out in stones and acorns in the dirt. "There we are. This is what we'll do, then. The merchant will walk by, right about there" Brom pointed to the acorn, "the two of you will stand over there -"
"That's when I hold the rope and scowl?" Wimsel cuts in, helpfully.
"-yes, you do your scowling and rope-holding over there" Brom points to the stone which is meant to be Wimsel, which is quite far from the acorn actually, next to the Quidbury stone, " and Cotterpin will cover you with the Enchanted Staff -"
"The Enchanted Staff of....?" Quidbury prompts again, but Brom merely holds up a hand to silence him, continuing, "- and the burro will wait for us to load it down with treasure once we're done."
"Him" Corrects Quid.
"What?"
"His name is Thorr, and he goes by 'Him'", Quid has mentioned this before and thinks the mercenary might have a hearing or memory impairment, perhaps.
Brom looks between Quid and the Burro and back again. "Are you sure? I mean, I've not hear it - him - speak at all, so... where did you learn its name, exactly?"
Quidbury had given Thorr his name, of course, when he bought the burro. He isn't sure what Brom is getting at.
Wimsel points to the road. "There's somebody coming. Should we rob them?"
Brom springs into action, waving them both aggressively toward the bushes, and hissing instructions, "Quick, get into your places, and do not do anything until I signal you. Get the burrow behind that tree. Stay out of sight."
Wimsel and Quid lead Thorr into the thick scrub, Quidbury fretting that he's not had time to make a mask yet. Wimsel recommends they improvise something, and begins rummaging through the saddlebags. Unlike some burros, Thor is amicable enough when told where to stand, most days - as long as there are grasses there, he really doesn't need much else. So he stands still while the two rummage, not quite behind the tree he suspects they meant to lead him fully behind. The grasses here are particularly tasty, though. All is well.
Brom is already up a tree on the other side of the road. Situated upon a thick branch, he looks around the hefty trunk and through the leaf coverage at the approaching man. Following this man are seven more. All eight are quite heavily armed. Brom's companions, he notices, are not nearly as hidden as they need to be. They seem to be putting a bag over Cotterpin's head. The Ass's ass-end is not remotely hidden behind anything.
Brom is beginning to think the bounty upon Wimsel's head is not nearly high enough to make any of this journey worth his while - or, for that matter, his life.
B.B. Butterwell's Compendium Allegoriian by B.B. Butterwell is marked with CC0 1.0 Universal [https://camo.githubusercontent.com/1a819dc52a60fb1daae7b17f4ce51131923ff7c4970bcd903f6695c39e5eeb35/68747470733a2f2f6d6972726f72732e6372656174697665636f6d6d6f6e732e6f72672f70726573736b69742f69636f6e732f63632e7376673f7265663d63686f6f7365722d7631][https://camo.githubusercontent.com/adabb34f08f7137120654270f866ebece6ff84831c1231b7912c36da17e5191e/68747470733a2f2f6d6972726f72732e6372656174697665636f6d6d6f6e732e6f72672f70726573736b69742f69636f6e732f7a65726f2e7376673f7265663d63686f6f7365722d7631]
FOOTNOTES
1. The King's Road is everywhere in the Isles - practically every road of a certain quality of upkeep (not too rutted, but rutted enough to keep the Wheelsman Guild busy in every town of medium size or greater) is called the King's. ↩